lament that even Frederick II Nicht sah, dass Deutschland's Dichtkunst sich schnell erhob, Aus fester Wurzel daurendem Stamm, und weit, Der Æste Schalten wurf![22] With pain of a like quality those vain hopes, too, return back to him, in which he saw in Kaiser Joseph the uprise of a new world of spiritual effort and poetry. And, finally, it is an honour to the heart of the old veteran at least as great that he sympathizes with the present fact that a people had shattered its fetters of every kind, had trodden under foot the injustice of a thousand years, and for the first time sought to found its political life on reason and right. He greets this new Labende, selbst nicht geträumte Sonne. Geseegnet sei mir du, das mein Haupt bedeckt, Mein graues Haar, die Kraft, die nach sechzigen Fortdauert; denn sie war's, so weithin Brachte sie mich, dass diess Erlebte![23] Nay, he will even express his gratitude to France:[24] Verzeiht, O Franken (Namen der Bruder ist Der edle Name) dass ich den Deutschen einst Zurufte, das zu fliehen, warum ich Ihnen jetzt flehe, euch nachzuahmen. And, naturally, the acerbation of the poet was all the more bitter, when this fair dawn of freedom changed to a day that was steeped in horror and blood, one that murdered liberty. Klopstock, however, was unable to give poetical expression to such painful feelings. What he did find the opportunity to say was all the more prosaic, without definite structure and logical consequence on account of the fact that he had no higher purpose,[25] veiled in such facts, to set off against his disappointed hope. His genius was in short entirely blind to any more profound demand of reason in the facts of such a revolution. The greatness of Klopstock consists then essentially in his national sympathies, his keen sense of freedom, friendship, love, and his staunch Protestantism. We may justly honour him for his noble character and his noble art, for his effort and achievement. And if, too, in many directions he shares the limitations of his own times, and in truth is responsible for many odes that are solely of interest to the critic, the grammarian, the metrist, odes deficient in all poetic vitality, we may affirm, nevertheless, that with the single exception of Schiller, we shall find in our subsequent literature no more noble figure, no disposition of such serious and masculine independence.